


Weapon of Choice

by eurydice72



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-23
Updated: 2013-07-23
Packaged: 2017-12-21 03:22:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/895192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eurydice72/pseuds/eurydice72
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He saw nothing but the weapon in his hand and the opponent before him. He gave her no choice but to become one or the other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dagger

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the KMM prompt, "Uther wants to marry Morgana off for political gain. Leon is merely a knight, a dogsbody."

_DAGGER  
def: a short, double-edged weapon with a pointed blade and a handle, designed specifically for close combat.   
It offers versatility, allowing its user to both slash and thrust as the circumstance demands._

"You hold that blade like a girl."

The young knight's gaze snapped up from his work, his whetstone frozen in his other hand. "Pardon?"

He had the kindest eyes she'd ever seen. No matter where he was, no matter who commanded his attention, those blue eyes stripped away pretense, beckoning a body closer, closer. They mesmerized her, had done so from the very first moment she saw him amongst the others, even though he should've been lost in that scarlet sea, just another faceless guard with more brawn than brains. A man such as this would never survive as a knight of Camelot, but it seemed nobody had the nerve to tell him so. 

"You heard me." She straightened her posture, refusing to quail under his attention. For as many weeks as she'd watched him train, she still felt like a child compared to him. He couldn't be that much older than her fourteen years, though. Six, seven years at the outside. "Even Arthur could best you, and he's just a boy." There. Placing Arthur in a different category should help the knight see her as more of his equal.

"Prince Arthur is still in training."

"As are you, if memory serves."

His eyes narrowed. "Can I be of service, my lady?"

Even with her deliberate agitation, he refused to break his polite composure. Short of stripping out of her gown and running through the training fields without a stitch on, she'd tried everything she could to get him to notice her. But Leon was too focused on winning Uther's favor, pushing himself harder than any of the other young men striving to rise through the ranks. He saw nothing but the weapon in his hand and the opponent before him. He gave her no choice but to become one or the other.

She strolled farther into the armory, trailing her fingers along the sword hilts she passed as she skirted the edge of the room. "I rather thought I might be of some service to you," she mused. She deliberately kept her eyes away, her chin up, to better bare her throat and upper chest. Her dress was a size too small, and while she had to move slowly to keep from losing her breath, it succeeded in making her breasts seem fuller. Whether he noticed or not, she had no idea, else she'd shatter the nonchalance she strove for. "My father was an expert swordsman. He taught me everything he knew."

His unexpected snort startled her smooth steps, but by the time she glanced in his direction, Leon had already schooled his features. "I already train with the best."

"The best have you dropping your blade the moment before you strike. That's why Alaric won your match yesterday." She shrugged and turned back to the door. "But it's no matter to me if you wish to die on your first real quest. Camelot needs knights who can actually fight, not boys playing with their swords."

Her silken hem whispered across the stone floor, each step creating another shiver to race through her. He needed to stop her. She'd made her first move, and now it was his turn, didn't he understand that? If he let her walk out, she wouldn't be able to try again, not if she wished to retain even a fraction of her dignity. What more could she do, though? Nothing else seemed to get through to him.

_Please, Leon, don't be a fool._

"You watched the match?"

Her feet stopped, but her heart became fleet. Four simple words, perhaps not those she would've chosen, but enough for her purpose, enough for hope to kindle anew like the fires that rampaged through enemy hearts.

"I told you," she said without turning. "I enjoy swordplay. Camelot has some of the finest knights the five kingdoms have ever known."

"Alaric boasted about the win all day."

"As well he should. It was a fair loss." Lying to soften the blow would have been wiser, but she wouldn't get what she wanted if she shielded his ego.

"But you believe I could have won."

She turned with a small, triumphant smile. "I _know_ you could have. You have a longer reach and a stronger swing. Your weakness lies in form."

"Then why have none of the others pointed this out to me? Why hasn't the king?"

"You're one among many, and you haven't yet been called upon to do anything more dangerous than nightly guard duty. They won't notice you until you give them reason to."

His head cocked. Curiosity played in the depths of his eyes. "You did."

Maintaining the distance between them helped quell the butterflies that had found a permanent home in her stomach. "Because I had reason."

At times like this, she craved the guidance of a mother or an older sister, someone familiar with this battle between men and women who could tell her how much was too much to admit, how much was too little. She had the feeling that Uther's amusement at her flirtatious behavior with visiting nobles wasn't entirely appropriate, but this was what she knew best. She knew men already found her beautiful. What she didn't know was whether this one would--or could--see her for more than the king's over-indulged ward.

His response was an eternity in coming, time slipping away from her when every second in battle counted. "I don't wish to be lost in the shadows."

"Of course not." A step forward. Each one mattered. "You're proud of what you do, who you are."

"I've wanted to be a knight of Camelot my entire life."

The sudden ferocity in his tone sliced through her defenses. Her pace faltered, her traitorous thighs quivering at the proof of passion he so rarely unleashed. "I could help you be the greatest knight Uther has ever seen."

"If I accept your help, the others can't find out."

"I know." Though she didn't like it. For Leon, though, she'd settle for being the secret for the time it took to gain his affection. "They wouldn't understand. Their so-called honor blinds them."

Leon's eyes narrowed. "Do you question my honor, then?"

"Far from it. I applaud your wisdom in recognizing a strong ally." She came within arm's reach, sidestepping the tip of his sword so nothing more came between them. "We _are_ allies now, are we not?"

For all his outer calm, he wasn't as unaware of her as he wanted her to believe. His nostrils flared, and his lashes ducked for a single moment as his gaze strayed elsewhere than what was best and proper for a ward of the king. Not for Morgana, though. She'd thrown away thoughts of best and proper the first time she saw Leon.

He nodded once. He even smiled.

"Allies."

* * *

Sneaking through the castle in the dead of night when he was supposed to be patrolling the parapets was not the smartest choice Leon had ever made. Discovery risked ramifications of the highest order, especially if word were to get back to the king. But Edward owed him for the time Leon covered his delinquence when he twice fell asleep on his shift, and while Leon never considered those kinds of favors for other knights as debts to be paid, in this case, he had to make an exception. He needed to know, and this was the only way for him to find out.

The risk was worth it, though he'd never admit as much to Morgana. Her ego already rivaled Arthur's, consequences of being part of the royal family, he assumed.

At her door, he hesitated, locked in indecision. Courtesy warred with common sense, one commanding him to knock, the latter reminding him that she was probably asleep and knocking would not only wake her and leave her irritable but draw attention from anybody who might be near. Tamping down the urge to obey his breeding, he carefully turned the door handle, mindful to stay as silent as possible.

A single candle burned inside the room. Though it sat at the bedside, the glow it cast over the sumptuous blankets revealed they'd been abandoned, tossed back and disarrayed by an owner uncaring of appearances.

"Morgana?" he called out softly, venturing farther into her chambers.

He found her curled up in a chair by the window. Her gaze was averted, fixed on whatever she saw in the night, and her arms wrapped tightly around her legs to hug them to her body. Much of her nightgown was masked by the fall of her ebony waves, slashing across the pearly gossamer like open wounds. He shook off the image as he approached. For as much time as he spent with Morgana with a sword in his hand, he never wanted to associate her with carnage.

"Morgana?" he repeated when he was nearer.

She tilted her head up at his voice, and he halted yet again. All color had been drained away from her pure complexion. Even her lips were pinched white. 

"Leon?" The way she spoke, his name sounded like fragile crystal, irreparably shattered. "What are you doing here?"

He ignored her question and crouched at her side. "What's wrong?"

Thick lashes fanned across her cheeks. Her head swayed to the side as if too heavy for her to hold up. "I don't sleep well."

He itched to reach out and touch her, but in the few months they'd been training together, he had never once yielded on that familiar impulse. She was so young, in spite of how hard she tried to convince him otherwise, and he couldn't let himself forget that the king's fifteen-year-old ward was off-limits, no matter how much he--or she--wished things were different.

"You should speak to Gaius," he said. "I'm sure he can help."

"He wouldn't understand."

"It's his job to understand," he pressed. "He could give you something that would help, I'm sure of it."

"Nothing helps."

"Because you've exhausted all possibilities? Somehow, I doubt that. You and I both know you don't like being seen as..." He was going to say _weak_ , but she hated that word. "...like this," he changed it to. "But you need something, Morgana. Promise me you'll talk to him."

He couldn't say why it was so important to him for her to agree, but after a moment, she nodded.

"Good." He attempted to straighten to give her space back, but a single glance from her and he was locked at her side. "What happened today?"

She didn't ask what he referred to, for which he was grateful. Their routine might still be young, but it had already taken strong enough root for its disruption to throw off his entire day. When she hadn't shown for their pre-breakfast training session, he'd spent the rest of his hours wondering why.

"Uther found out." Bitterness laced her tone. "That stupid maid he assigned to me told him everything."

His breath caught. Discovery had been a real fear from the onset. At first, he'd only cared what the other knights might say if they heard he was working on his swordfighting with a girl, but the more time he spent with Morgana, the more he worried about what the king would do instead. She was young and impressionable, not to mention renowned already for her beauty. While Leon was noble-born, he was still just a knight, unworthy of a match or any of her attentions, whether they were platonic or not.

"What did he say?"

"He forbade me from continuing. He said it was unbecoming for a young lady to be seen consorting with knights."

Uther's specific terminology drove Leon to his feet, and he backed away several steps as if the distance would be enough to eradicate the king's impressions. "We don't consort."

Something about the way he said it must have amused her. Her full mouth twisted into a wry smile as her brow lifted. "What do you call it?"

"We train."

"So you see what you and I do as different as what you do with the other knights?"

"No--yes-- _no_!" When she posed questions like that, his mind didn't know where to latch onto. She was a sly one, his Morgana, always finding ways to get to him with words when the mere sight of her was enough to send any man to his knees. In a few years time, she would be unparalleled within the five kingdoms, and that thought alone filled Leon with a maelstrom he couldn't grasp.

Though she hadn't moved from her chair, she seemed taller in the space she occupied, stronger and straighter. "You can't have it both ways," she said. "Is the answer really that difficult?"

Yes, because she couldn't know how she left him every morning, how walking away from her when her eyes shone and her skin was dewy with the sweat of their labor left him aching for hours, his skin too tight for his heated flesh, the world too bright and distracting when he didn't have the skirmishes with her to focus on. It wasn't because he knew his attentions would be unwelcome. Far from it. He'd known from that first visit in the armory that she flirted with him, using every weapon at her disposal to goad him into responding. But he was not a man to take advantage of a young girl's crush. His honor had to mean something, else what was the point of being a knight at all?

His inability to answer her in a way that would satisfy both of them left the air between them swollen and tense in his silence. Morgana sighed and rested her chin on her knees, looking inexplicably both more innocent and seductive at the same time.

"The time I spend with you are my favorite hours of the day," she said. "I love sparring. I love the way the sword feels against my palm. I love feeling like anything is possible, that I can't be beaten down no matter what is thrown at me."

He snorted. "I do win occasionally, you know."

"I know. But a defeat at your hands doesn't feel like a defeat. It feels like...another way to win."

Her cryptic words might have left an outsider shaking his head, unable to parse what she might mean. But Leon understood, without having to beg further explanation. He knew the value of a lesson learned at the hand of a worthy foe. She had taught him much in the short time they'd spent together, and not just about his form.

"Uther is right, though." Admitting such strained the limits of his control. "Perhaps it's better this way."

When he turned to leave, Morgana bolted from her seat, appearing before him to block the path. She was always doing that. Barring the way. Forcing him to grind to a halt and consider how he would proceed without barreling over her.

"You don't believe that." Her eyes flashed. Some of the color was returning to her cheeks. "You wouldn't have come in search of an explanation if you did."

Why couldn't he breathe? He had no problem standing this close to her with a sword in her hand. But then, her wild scent didn't swirl through his head as much as it did fuel his fight. "I was worried about you."

"You saw me at dinner. I know you did."

"Something could've been wrong."

"You're not foolish enough to delude yourself like that."

But he was. He was starting to believe he'd been deluding himself all along.

"Are you foolish enough to risk Uther's wrath for a few simple sword lessons?" he countered. If he could only get her to see reason--

"Yes." She stared up at him, unblinking, defiant. "If they were with you, I wouldn't hesitate for a moment."

And there it was, the inevitable truth, the unblemished reality of why she'd pursued these lessons in the first place. Meeting the blaze in her eyes, he couldn't deny her sincerity, nor argue that she was the one suffering delusions if she thought for a second he might reciprocate the attraction. Simply being in front of him was all it took for his body to respond to her. No sense was immune. The smell of her, the touch, the vision of her dusky nipples peeking through the translucent gown. Only one sense remained untested. 

His mouth crashed to hers, his hands grappling to hold her, tug her tightly against him, do anything to make her his. Nails scratched at his shoulders, digging through his thin shirt to leave a stinging path in their wake. His fingers got knotted in her hair when he tried to push it out of the way, but rather than stop to free himself, he coiled the long strands around and around his palm to provide a stronger anchor in case she was the one to try and break it off.

She didn't. Her lips parted at the first touch from his. They might have been pinched from the trauma of whatever night terrors had driven her to the chair, but now they were ripe and ready to burst, a single cut the only thing necessary to make it happen.

The breath he'd lost before laying a finger on her disappeared entirely, replaced by Morgana's frantic pants, the hungry little cries she made in the back of her throat every time their tongues touched. She arched closer, rubbing almost awkwardly against his erection, but the added friction roused him more than he was capable of controlling.

He tore away, using his grip in her hair to yank her head back when she tried to chase him down. "Don't," he rasped. Sucking in air wasn't enough to satisfy his failing lungs. He could barely see straight for the way she filled his head. "Morgana, please."

"But you want this." She raked her hands down his chest, smiling when he groaned every time a muscle twitched in response. "See?"

"I do." Admitting it was surprisingly easy, certainly easier than trying to separate their bodies. "I'm not a fool, remember?"

"Then what's the problem?"

His thoughts swam, flailing as he sought his reasons. "This isn't why I came here. I don't want to take advantage of you."

"You're not. I'm not a child."

"You deserve better than this...this rutting."

Leaning her head to the side tightened the strands woven around his fingers. It cut almost painfully into his skin. He couldn't even imagine what it must be doing to her. But the look in her eye was pure desire, the hungry glow of a woman fully savoring the moment. She enjoyed how rough he was being, but whether it was because of the violence or him, he couldn't tell.

"This is exactly what I want," Morgana said. "You. Here. I've waited a long time for you to see me as who I am, Leon. Don't turn away from it now."

As if he could. They were too entangled, literally and otherwise, to make severing ties with her a simple task. "I see you," he said softly. "All too well."

Her eyes widened, as if she couldn't quite believe his concession. "Then stay."

"Not tonight." Tugging her forward, he bent and brushed his lips across her forehead. "Give me time."

"For what?"

To better master his impulses? To prove himself stronger than he feared he wasn't? Leon wasn't sure. "To make this memorable for both of us. When we're not exhausted."

"But this is what we have. I can't meet you anymore. That girl will tell Uther everything."

"So get a new maid."

"Nobody in this castle will deny Uther. He's the king."

"Someone outside of the castle, then." He refused to lose their time together. He was a better fighter because of Morgana, which made him a better man. "I know a girl who works for my father. She's loyal to a fault, and better yet, she's a friend of mine. If I ask her to keep it a secret, she will."

Morgana pulled away to frown up at him. "I'm not sure I like the idea of another girl who'll do anything for you like I would."

He chuckled. "Gwen's not like that. Trust me. And she'll be a good friend to you if that's what you want. She's a kind soul."

She still seemed unsure, though the tiny line between her brows eased. "I could use a real friend around here. Nobody really sees me."

Stretching his thumb, he caressed the strong line of her jaw, absorbing the heat radiating from her silken skin. "I do." He smiled. "You gave me reason, too, remember?"

Morgana's laughter rang throughout the room. "Throwing my own words back at me? You'll have to do better than that."

He matched her smile. "It'll be my pleasure."


	2. Poison

_POISON  
def: a harmful substance, meant to hurt living organisms at a base level.  
Its intentional use is often seen as a devious means of hurting an opponent._

Everyone watched her. Knights, servants, men, women, all were bewitched as Morgana strode down the center of the room, head held high, chin lifted in proud defiance. She'd chosen the violet gown that turned her eyes to sapphires, while Gwen had curled and bound her hair up and back to showcase the slender column of her neck. The playful smile she wore was the only adornment she needed.

Morgana knew that. Leon knew that. But he wasn't the smile's recipient.

Arthur laughed at whatever joke Morgana had shared with him, in high spirits after the jousting match that day. She had her arm coiled through his, fingers splayed as if they needed to accommodate the muscle beneath them, and for once, they seemed not to be even thinking about sniping at each other. For all appearances, they could have been the king and queen, strolling amongst their subjects, basking in the adoration as was their due. They were ideally matched, light and dark, strong and beautiful, and the crowd applauded when they reached the front table to take their seats with Uther.

Though he joined in the cheers, Leon seethed. It was bad enough he'd had to throw the match so the young prince would win. What was the point when Arthur was well on the way to the point where he'd win on his own anyway? But orders were orders, and Leon understood the reasoning even if he didn't agree with it, so he did what was asked of him.

This was his reward. Getting to watch Arthur bask and preen under smiles that weren't his, with Morgana's delicate hands flitting and touching him at every opportunity, with her musical laughter soaring over the buzz of the hall to spoil Leon's appetite for the feast laid before them.

He barely ate. Food turned to sawdust on his tongue, until he had to wash it down with wine, and more wine, and even more wine after that. It burned a hole through his gullet, churning with the bile that had swelled there over the course of the day. Through it all, he watched. Her. Him. Knowing there was nothing he could do about it.

Wondering if there was anything he should.

When the musicians came out to play, he made his excuses to Bodwyn and slipped out of the great hall. The chilly spring evening crisped everything it touched, seeping through his mail to skitter along his flushed skin, leaving it icy in its wake. His face ached, cheeks chapping even with the new beard he'd grown. He gritted his jaw. For her, damn it. Another change in his life that Morgana had wrought. Because she preferred the rough texture against her body on those few opportunities they could still manage to see each other, and he didn't know how to say no to her.

He climbed his way to the parapets, half-heartedly acknowledging the nods from the guards he passed. Higher, that's what he wanted. Away from the earth and the noise and the reminders of merriment he couldn't partake in. The upper levels were deserted, all the servants focused on the revelry, all the knights and nobles and ladies enjoying the fruits of Uther's indulgence. He leaned heavily against the rear wall, head tilted back to gaze up at the prickled sky, and forced his eyes to stay open when the vertigo hit.

Closing them returned the images of her in a rush. If he stared at nothing, perhaps he could feel nothing.

His body was numb when he heard the distant creak of the door from the castle. Time to go back in, but his muscles disobeyed his command, still locked in the war between his flesh and soul. He finally shut his eyes. Let whoever walked by think he was clearing his head of the party. They would ignore him and go on their business, because in the end, he was just another faceless knight. He might wear the red cloak with pride, but that didn't mean he was always particularly proud of what it meant he had to do.

"Here you are."

Her light voice drifted to his ears, just like it had in the banquet hall. It banished the cold that had overtaken him, and he straightened out of reflex, ready to face her regardless of the tumult she had caused inside him.

While her breath plumed in front of her face, she'd not come out with a cloak or cape, leaving her arms bare and exposed to the cutting night air. Pink stained her cheeks, and her eyes glittered like unbroken frost over the fields, but she regarded him with that damnable wry amusement she reserved for Arthur most of the time.

"You left early," she commented.

"It's not my party."

"It's everyone's party. That was the point."

"Was it?"

Her smile faded--or was that his imagination? Did he see only what he wanted to see? Was that the curse she'd created as she'd reached adulthood, blinding him to the truth of her nature because he still saw the innocence of the girl who'd confronted him in the armory? He didn't know. The wine made anything seem possible.

Just hours ago, he would've said Morgana was the one who could make anything seem possible.

"Something's wrong." 

When she reached out to touch his forehead, his reflexes took over and knocked her hand away. "Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Touch me."

The smile came back, if it had ever left at all. "Nobody's here to see. I locked the door from this side so we wouldn't be disturbed."

That wasn't the point, though of course Morgana wouldn't understand that. "There's nothing for them to witness," he said. "You should go back." A sneer crept into his tone. "You'll be missed."

"By who? Uther's in his cups already."

"Don't forget Arthur."

"Arthur?" She laughed and stepped forward, driving him to retreat a matching pace. "What do I care about Arthur?"

"A great deal, if your behavior is anything to judge by," he snapped.

"He won the day. I was required to join him for the feast. Now if _you'd_ won--"

He would not let her go there. "And everything else was just a gift for him, is that it? A little extra to say, job well done?"

"You're jealous."

"Half the room was jealous of Arthur tonight."

"But you're the one who left." Her advance forced him against the wall, so he pulled himself up to his full height to better glare down at her. She didn't quail, though if he was being honest she never did, and instead rested her palm against his chest, directly over his heart. "Just as you're the one I came to find. That means something."

"Does it?" He might not be able to feel her heat through the chain, but the need to touch her still ran rampant, in spite of how he felt. He gripped her arms and hauled her upward, forcing her to tiptoes. "What games are you playing, Morgana? Do you think we're just toys for you to discard when you're bored with us?"

"No game--"

She gasped when he shook her, lips parting, corners curling into another damnable smirk. It made him want to shake her again, but that was what she desired, provoking until he had no choice but to react. It was what she'd always desired, and he was the sorry bastard who fell for it every time.

"You should go back to the feast," he said. "Where you're actually wanted."

Though he needed the words to cut, the glow in her eyes remained. "You want me," she purred. She smoothed her hand down and down, never looking away. When she reached his groin, she deftly slid beneath his tunic to squeeze his erection. "Were you hard while you ate? Did you sit there, imagining what it would be like to tear me away from Arthur's side?"

"Yes," he ground out, hating his weakness. Her flirtations were his punishment. She'd said so more than once. For following through on his duty, for becoming a more trusted member of the court, for being necessary in ways that took him away from Camelot. Even Gwen had come to him once to explain how much Morgana moped when he wasn't around, but Leon could do nothing about it short of shirking responsibilities he'd striven to attain his entire life. To be with Morgana more would mean being less of a knight. The exchange wasn't worth it.

_Yet._

Because he feared that one day, if he allowed his connection with Morgana to continue to deepen, he would be willing to sacrifice everything he was for her.

"I'm here now," she whispered. She stretched to touch his mouth with hers, the kiss cold and fleeting. Only her breath was warm. That, and the hunger she didn't bother trying to hide. "It would be a shame to waste the privacy."

Time alone they so rarely achieved anymore. As the weight of his position grew, so did Morgana's. Their sparring sessions had ceased before she turned eighteen. Whatever hours they could sneak away to share were spent naked and sweat-soaked, entwined around each other as if that moment would be their last. He missed her when she wasn't around. Her wicked sense of humor. The way she looked at him and made him feel like more of a man. He couldn't blame her for the same sense of loss.

Without letting her go, he whirled around, reversing their positions so her back now bent slighly over the edge of the parapet. Her hands flew upward, grabbing at his shoulders as her feet left the ground. He yanked at her skirts, freeing her legs, then moved on to his own trousers when she coiled her calves around his hips. She wore nothing beneath the gown. The dark curls over her mound glistened with the dew of her arousal.

"Arthur can't have you." Thrusting his hand between her legs, he sank three fingers into her wet channel, hooking them forward once they were buried to stroke the inner wall. "I don't care if he is the heir to the throne."

She clenched around him, a small, needy cry escaping her tight control. "No," she agreed. "And he never will."

Her admission wasn't enough. He needed all of her, body, spirit, heart. Circling at her clit with his thumb, he grinned when she squirmed, refusing to strengthen the contact the way he knew she wanted. "He wouldn't know what to do with you, even if he did. Who else has ever made you feel like I do, Morgana?"

Using her hold on his shoulders, she pulled herself up, grinding down against the heel of his hand. Dark hair tumbled from its careful knots, unleashing the woman who resided behind the mask. She nipped at his lower lip, then slid along his jaw in a series of bites that made him shudder.

"No one," she answered when she reached his ear. She dragged her tongue along his beard, filling his head with her moans. "It's only ever been you."

Leon yanked his fingers free, using the juices clinging to them to slick his shaft. A pass over the tip coated his palm in pre-come, and he added that to the lubrication, deliberately angling his cock to slap against her clit every time he stroked down to the root.

"Now who's playing games?" Morgana panted.

She had a point. With a tilt of his hips, he ploughed into her pussy, barely able to rein in the violence creeping beneath his skin.

He was too frustrated to manage finesse, and she was too eager to seem to care. Driving into her ready flesh brought groans from both of them, and they turned together at the same time to seal away the sounds with kisses made feral from their need. It was a familiar dance. Behind tapestries, in hushed chambers, anywhere they could find the time to be together. In all the nearly five years since he'd first kissed her, not one person had ever discovered the truth about them. Gwen had been told, but they had done that together, out of necessity. Otherwise, their secret had been theirs alone to share.

Now, as he pounded into her, Leon wished it didn't have to be so. It wasn't the first time he'd hoped for more. She sparked desires in him he wished would remain dormant. Nothing good would come of it.

Being buried inside her hot, willing flesh was very close, though. He let loose all his fury, biting at her neck, scraping his roughened cheeks along her delicate skin. She would be raw and sore within hours, perhaps hiding away in her chambers in the morning to deflect questions of what might have caused it. Over the years, she had left her own marks, but Leon never covered those up. When the other knights would rib him about them, he allowed the games, even joining in with pleased ownership. Morgana's name remained a mystery to his comrades, though. She was his to have, his to claim. His alone.

"More...Leon..."

Her pleas were rare. Morgana usually took what she wanted without having to ask, sometimes tearing into Leon to find the release she craved. This was a gift. It might even have been a peace offering for the way she'd treated him. Whichever it was, he closed his eyes, kissed her again, and poured everything he was into each stroke. On a night like tonight, the emotions were too powerful to corral anyway. Better to let them go and pray Morgana was strong enough to bear the weight of them.

In his heart, he knew she would. 

She came with a whimper, arching away from the wall to slam her hips into his. Her muscles contracted around him, making it harder to thrust through her orgasm, but he powered each stroke even more, ready for his release to set him free. He was the one to shout, unbridled for the first time that day, and though she clung to his shoulders for balance, he was the one in need of it. His world turned upside-down when it came to her. It happened every time, so much so he wondered if perhaps he had it backwards the rest of his hours, that he walked through his life in search of being righted and only found it when Morgana was there beside him, around him, with him, shifting it to its proper axis.

The first thing he became aware of as the adrenaline ebbed was the sound of their harsh panting. He gulped for breath and rested his forehead against Morgana's shoulder, waiting for everything to stop spinning. Her fingers tangled in his damp hair, pulling slightly as she caressed his head. Lips touched to his temple. Her smile left a brand when she withdrew.

"Silly man," she teased. "Though if this is what happens to you when you're all jealous..."

"Don't." Somehow, he found the strength to lift his heavy hand and meet her eyes. "Not now."

After a moment, she nodded. Solemnity replaced her mirth. "But you know, right? Tell me you understand. You're the only one who ever has."

She made such claims all the time. He wanted to believe them. Occasionally, he even did. "Yes," he said. Because he needed to trust in her right now just as much as she needed to know he did.

Her kiss was a bird's distant cry. "Come back to my rooms with me. Spend the night."

He closed his eyes. "I shouldn't."

"And I shouldn't love you like I do, but that doesn't mean I don't." Another feathery brush, tickling his chin. "Let me make it up to you."

With a promise such as that, with her still quivering in his arms, he couldn't refuse.

He didn't want to, either.


	3. Mace

_MACE  
def: a blunt club, utilizing a heavy tip to deal strong blows  
A common weapon, it is simple, straightforward, and deadly when used with enough force._

As Uther went down the steps to greet the traveling party, Leon scanned the courtyard for any sign of Morgana. According to Arthur, Uther wanted her present to meet the visiting king and his son. Brennus's realm bordered Odin's, and the rumors were already flying that Uther wished to court the aging king into joining forces against Odin's encroaching threat. Leon had thought the idea brilliant until he heard how insistent Uther was about the circumstances of their arrival. Now, he was almost glad Morgana didn't seem as inclined to humor Uther as she normally did.

She remained absent from the initial meeting with the Council, as well as the evening meal. Gwen arrived with apologies, claiming Morgana was unwell, and though Uther made a joke about delicate females, Leon recognized the tightening at the corner of his mouth that noted his displeasure. Morgana would rue her choice once Uther confronted her.

A confrontation that occurred as soon as the guests had retired for the night.

Though he asked nobody to accompany him, Uther's path was clear, his steps heavy as he marched through the castle for Morgana's chambers. Leon's duties were done for the day, so he trailed behind, keeping far enough back not to be seen. Uther entered after a single knock. A moment later, Gwen came out, the door shutting firmly behind her. She frowned at the barred entrance, but when she turned to leave, Leon hurried around the corner he'd been watching from and blocked her path.

"What's going on?" he asked.

Gwen rolled her eyes. "Another of their arguments. I wouldn't bother sticking around if I were you. Morgana will be in a foul mood when he leaves."

"Was she really unwell?"

"What do you think?"

He glanced at the door. Already, the voices were rising inside, Uther's gruff tones overshadowing Morgana's more strident ones. "She sounds like she was in a foul mood before he even got here." She was usually much better at softening Uther's moods, but only if she was in the mindset to do it beforehand. "What happened?"

"Nothing. Well, just this prince business."

Mention of Prince Lionel snapped his attention back to Gwen, who was having great difficulty meeting his eyes. "What business? Morgana's not involved in the treaty." Her lack of a response unnerved him as much as his encroaching fears. "You might as well tell me. I'll find out sooner or later anyway."

She sighed. "You won't like it. Morgana certainly doesn't."

"What?"

"Uther wants her to marry the prince. To ensure Brennus's cooperation."

The possibility had lurked in the corners of his thoughts ever since that afternoon, but hearing it spoken aloud turned his stomach to lead. He had no claims on Morgana--no public claims, at least--and dealt with her flirtations poorly. She'd ceased the games with Arthur, even if she loved how ferocious their coupling was when Leon came to her afterward. But that was a minor victory for him. She still preened in the company of men, adoring being the center of their attention, confident in her abilities to dazzle them. She might not be a princess in name, but she was viewed as such anyway. He'd always known he would some day lose her to another man. He'd only hoped some day wouldn't happen when he was around to witness it.

"It's a strong strategic move," he said, struggling not to let his disappointment show. "With Brennus's help, we stand a much better chance at stopping Odin, once and for all."

The way Gwen stared at him, like she didn't even know who he was, made him wish he'd never come to Morgana's room in the first place. "You sound like the king," she said.

He arched a brow, trying for supercilious but fearing Gwen saw through it without even trying. "There are worse men for me to aspire to be like. He's the king for a reason."

"I always thought you were a better man than that." She brushed past him, marching down the hall. "So did Morgana."

Chasing after her would satisfy neither of them, even if he could get his feet to obey. The arguments emanating from Morgana's room, however, kept him glued in place, his pulse racing every time Uther shouted at her. It happened so rarely, each time was a shock to the system. Morgana's reactions were Uther's fault, though. He'd spoiled her from the moment she'd come to live in the castle. The only thing he had ever denied her were the training lessons with Leon.

When the door opened, Leon ducked into an alcove before Uther could spot him. He didn't risk peeking out, but from the quick, heavy steps echoing through the corridor, Uther was just as agitated upon his departure as he had been when he'd arrived.

Leon waited for silence to return. He should go. Gwen's warning was wise. They'd made no arrangements to see each other for the duration of Brennus's visit, either. Morgana would hardly be expecting him. 

But expectation lied to your face, even when you begged for truth. Had that not been the one lesson he had learned in his time in Camelot? From Morgana, from the knights, from fate. He was at her door, knocking the secret pattern that told her it was him, as soon as he felt it was safe. Not soon enough, if the pounding of his heart was anything to go by.

She opened as his knuckles grazed across the wood on the last rap, though perhaps tore the door free of its moorings was closer to the force of it. Her cheeks were fiery flushed, the glitter in her eyes dangerous. Without a word, she swept forward, throwing her arms around his neck in a possessive embrace that might have crushed him at the start of their relationship.

"You always know when to come," she said, her breath hot in his ear.

She still clung to him when the door was at his back, her lips mapping his neck, his jaw, nails sinking into sinew. Tremors ran beneath her skin, her anxiety about Uther's edict trying to find some means to break free, but when he held onto her more tightly, to convince her--him?--everything would be all right, they only became more violent.

"Uther's an idiot," she hissed. "An alliance with Brennus doesn't guarantee besting Odin at all."

It might not, but it certainly strengthened their forces. Leon didn't like the arrangement, but it wasn't as if it was the first time two royal families had married together to face a common enemy.

"Why didn't you come to supper?" he asked. The mundane often worked to calm Morgana's tempers. She fixated on details to the exclusion of everything else, a trait that had grown more intense as she grew older. He'd long ago learned that the best way to break those spells was to shift her focus to the other side of the problem.

As her arms loosened to allow space to look at him, Morgana slipped down his body, soft flesh tangible even through their clothing. "And perpetuate Uther's ridiculous offer?"

"Hiding makes you look afraid of it."

Her jaw hardened. "Joining them would've looked like I condoned it."

"So instead you make Uther come and confront you here." He nodded toward her dim chambers. An urn lay shattered against the wall, a recent casualty or else Gwen would have cleaned it up. One of them must have thrown it in frustration. "You don't usually fall prey to Uther's manipulations like that."

Yanking herself away from his embrace, she whirled and paced around the room. "I refuse to play this his way. I'm not going to marry Lionel, even if Uther throws me into the dungeons."

"He'd just send Geoffrey there to conduct the ceremony," he tried with a smile.

His joke landed on deaf ears. "I don't even know this Lionel. And Arthur's marriage should be the only one that counts. Why isn't Uther demanding that Arthur marry Brennus's niece or cousin or something like that?"

"Arthur isn't ready for a union like that."

"And I am?"

"It makes political sense, Morgana. Odin gets stronger every day--"

"You _agree_ with Uther?"

If he'd thought it difficult to face the disappointment in Gwen's gaze, standing straight under Morgana's was a thousand times worse. "I didn't say that."

"Really? Because it sounded like you approve of my marrying Lionel."

The line between approval and understanding was the thinnest of slices, one sure to be fatal if he landed on the wrong side. Morgana would spot a lie as soon as it fell from his tongue, though, leaving him no option but to say, "The alliance is strong strategy. Camelot would be better for it."

"And me? Would I be better for it?"

"Any man would be honored to have you as a wife."

"That wasn't what I asked."

"I don't know this Lionel--"

"And neither do I!" She flew back at him, panic written behind the fury she tried to mask it with. "I don't want to marry a man I don't love, let alone a complete stranger."

"What other choice do you have?"

Morgana froze. This close, the heat poured off her, prickling even where they didn't touch. "I thought I had you." Her lips barely moved as she formed the words, her voice voided of the passion that had enflamed her just a moment before.

"You do," he said automatically, then grimaced. As much as he needed the hope for himself, he couldn't give it to Morgana and make this worse. "But it doesn't matter. I can't marry you."

"Can't? Or won't?"

He backed off, trying to get his thoughts in order again. "Uther would never allow it. He wouldn't even grant you permission to train with me."

"That was different," she scoffed. "He didn't want me ruining his image of the perfect lady. But that's not me, Leon. You know that."

"That doesn't change the fact that I'm just a knight."

"And I'm not a princess."

"You are to Uther."

And wasn't that the whole point of it? Uther might respect him as a knight, but Leon hadn't even been good enough to spend time with Morgana in a platonic capacity. As a potential husband? He'd laugh himself silly, then order her to marry Lionel anyway. Leon would be embarrassed in front of his fellow knights, if not outright stripped of rank, and nothing would have been changed.

He knew the moment Morgana saw the course of his rationale, though there was no doubting she'd seen it barreling for them when she'd stiffened against him.

"I always thought you were too kind to be a knight," she said. "But that wasn't it at all. You're too much of a coward."

"Morgana--"

"Don't!" The air went brittle between them, as broken as the urn on the floor. "I don't know why you bothered to come here if your only intention was to try and convince me to behave like a good little girl. I'll tell you the same thing I told Uther. I don't care about what would be politically strategic. My future is mine to choose. Not his. And definitely not yours."

Though that hadn't been his intention at all, he'd never be able to convince her otherwise now. She was too hurt and her walls impenetrable. He might rarely find himself on this side of them, but he knew her well enough to know there'd be no scaling them this evening.

Considering the changes about to be wrought in both of their lives, it might not be possible to ever scale them.

All the way back to the door, he prayed she would stop him from going. This was not how he wished things to end. He'd loved Morgana for too many years for it to be this bitter. There was even a voice in a hidden corner of his heart that begged her to keep fighting for them.

But she didn't.


	4. Magic

_MAGIC  
def: the act of creating a desired effect through the harnessing of mystical and/or natural forces  
Capable of being used for a wide variety of tasks, it works with unseen energies, often generated from within the user._

On the balcony, the winds whipped her cloak around her legs, stinging where it slapped in spite of her heavy gown. A sea of red swirled in the courtyard below, men at the ready before marching off through the gates. A blond head lead the pack, proud and solemn. His aquiline profile revealed the grim set of his jaw, but his eyes were locked forward, not in her direction at all, hidden from view and any hope she might have at knowing what was going through his head.

When she took a step forward, a strong hand clamped around her arm and held her back. "Let me go," she protested, but Uther's grip was unbreakable.

"Haven't you done enough?"

Morgana blinked. "I've done nothing wrong."

"Oh?" Without letting go, he dragged her the few feet to the end of the balcony and forced her focus elsewhere. "Look. That's all you. Because you allowed your pride to get in the way of Camelot's best interests."

Bodies littered the countryside, most of them buried in scarlet that was more than the Pendragon crest. Too many to count, too many to bury, too many to name, but all hers to own. Corpses forsaken from battles lost. Good men driven back to the earth from whence they came, with a smoldering Camelot left behind to try and protect their remaining families.

"No," she whispered. "I didn't do this."

"Of course, you did." Uther stood at her back, pinning her to the stone wall, his harsh breath at her ear. "Love will always destroy what you hold dearest, Morgana. If I teach you nothing else, know that."

She turned her head away, trying to block out the images, but Uther grasped her chin and yanked it back, tilting her gaze down at the same time. Time to shut her eyes failed her. She saw what it was Uther wanted her to.

Leon swinging his sword at a charging enemy. His armor was dinged and bloody, no longer the pristine shine when he'd set off from the courtyard with the other knights. Someone had sliced his cheek open, matting his beard in dark splotches where it dripped down his face. A war cry twisted his normally kind features into a cruel mask she didn't even recognize.

But it was the man rising from the death behind him, the one with his blade drawn, swinging already to drive through Leon's back, that tore the scream from Morgana's throat...

* * *

"Morgana! Sssshhhhh, don't, it was only a dream."

The arms that held her in place were still strong, but the heavy brocade and sharp accoutrements of Uther's garb were gone, replaced by a slightly scratchy wool and smooth, unblemished skin. When she struggled to get free, they tightened around her, and the voice that had pulled her from her nightmare returned, soothing into her ear where Uther had ravaged just moments earlier.

"It's all right," Leon murmured. "I'm here, I'm here. It was just a dream. Everything's fine."

As she stared blindly around her, her scattered nerves tried to make sense of it all. Leon was here? But Leon was never here, not for the night, not for the dreams. She suffered through those alone, except for the odd occasion when they started before Gwen was done for the day, with only Gaius's potions to help suffocate them. The potions didn't work when the visions were especially virulent. Like tonight. Like seeing Leon get cut down on the battlefield. 

This wasn't real. She'd conjured him out of desperation. Her loneliness had finally manifested into something powerful enough to wield, so here he was, a shadow of the man she really loved.

"No, I'm real. And I'm here, Morgana. I'll always be here for you."

Her arm stopped its flailing, falling to rest on a solid thigh. "You can't be," she whispered. He'd answered her thoughts, hadn't he? That proved this was just more torment to ruin her sleep.

"How could I stay away when I know how poorly you've been resting?" His broad hand smoothed the hair from her face, warm lips caressing her temple. "I know you don't want to see me--"

She bolted upright. Now, she saw him. A single candle flickering on a nearby table illuminated the worry in his eyes, while casting the rest of him in darkness, but it was Leon, most assuredly, dressed in a worn shirt, the sleeves rolled back as if he meant to labor. Her lips moved, soundlessly at first, unsure of what query to pose. She had too many, each fighting to be heard. He didn't move when she lifted her trembling hand and touched his scruffy chin, the short hairs offering comfort in their familiarity.

"You're actually here," she said with wonder. "How?"

The corner of his mouth lifted in a sad smile. "You shouted, so I came."

"Why you and not the guards?"

"I was closer. I don't think they heard you."

"Closer?"

Gently catching her wrist, he tipped his head the scant inches it took to kiss her fingertips. "Gwen told me you haven't been sleeping well since Brennus's arrival. I've been keeping vigil after she leaves for the night. I'm sorry. I couldn't just turn my back, no matter how you might feel about me."

Nearly two weeks had transpired since Uther had charged into her room, commanding her to marry Lionel. Two weeks since Leon had left her to face the future she didn't want alone. Two weeks of plotting and planning how she might get out of the impending marriage. Two weeks of barrenness.

Except she hadn't been as alone as she'd thought. For all of Leon's claims that this union was best, he hadn't stayed away. He'd been here to pull her away from the terrors of events she wished fervently would never come true. He'd watched over her when she'd treated him abominably, refusing to even look in his direction any time they were in the same room, sending back his notes unread, his tokens unopened, when Gwen brought them to her.

"Don't apologize." Her hand drifted lower, a journey he allowed, to follow the firm contour of his chest, tickle at the hair visible at the open neck. "But please, don't go now that I'm awake. I need...I can't..."

"Ssshhhh..." 

He granted her mercy by bundling her back in his arms, stretching out onto the bed to spoon behind her. Captured like this, she should have panicked, especially in the flush of her dream's memories, but his scent already pervaded her sheets, his breath so warm and known along her cheek she could do nothing but relax against him. Her eyes fluttered shut, but the moment they did, she saw him being run through again, bloody and broken--breaking.

He was going to die because of her choice to fight Uther's arrangements. The dreams said so.

"Did Gaius forget your tonic?" Leon asked quietly.

She shook her head. The sleeve beneath her cheek was damp. It took a moment to realize so was her face. "It doesn't always work."

When he kissed the back of her neck, she shuddered from the sudden influx of emotion it elicited.

"You never said."

"I didn't think it was important."

"Everything about you matters, Morgana."

How could he still be so kind after everything they'd fought over? "I wish I could take back the last few weeks," she murmured.

"Except we can't. We can only look forward." His hand rubbed hypnotic circles along her stomach, lessening the tension muscle by muscle. "Don't dwell. Especially not on a few dreams when they're not even real."

"But they are."

"What did you dream about?"

She'd never told him. Nobody knew, though she'd hinted at the extent of her nightmares to Gaius. When something happened in her nightmares, she did her best to fix it before it broke, but most of the time, she failed miserably, just like so many of her ventures. Few efforts paid off in the way that she hoped, but those, too, eventually ended up in disappointment. Leon was a prime example.

"I dreamed you were killed on the battlefield." The details were true, as much as she dared to utter. He'd think her mad for believing in prophecy, or worse, fear her. At least she didn't have to worry about him turning her over to Uther. Even if she thought he had it in him--which she didn't--Leon would have to confess how he knew such details. If he couldn't dare to have their relationship made public all those years, there was no way he would do so now.

His embrace tightened. "Except I'm alive. And I'm here."

"You won't always."

"These are dangerous times. I have to do what is right to protect Camelot."

"No." Twisting to look at him over her shoulder, she met his somber gaze, shocked a little at how sad he seemed that moment. "I meant, here with me. Like this."

For long seconds, they just stayed like that, unspeaking, unmoving. She'd always loved his thoughtfulness, how he didn't barrel heedlessly into words like so many of the other knights--unless it was about anything in the armory, in which case he babbled adorably--but right now, she needed a response, something, anything to gauge his reaction more effectively because clearly her ability to do so with any skill at all had disappeared the night of their fight. It helped that he didn't let her go. That was a positive sign, she told herself. He wouldn't run away again, though she wasn't so blind not to know she'd been the one to push him out the door.

"Just because I'm not here, doesn't mean I don't think of you," he said. "And even if you marry Lionel, you won't truly be rid of me. I'll be in your heart, just as you'll always be in mine, and that's really the best we can hope for in these times, isn't it?"

In comparison to her dreams? Yes, most definitely yes. She'd settle for him living on inside of her, in the memories of all the hours they'd shared, if it meant he stayed alive to fight another day. He would never give up being a knight. It was too ingrained into his being to forsake his duty like that. But if she married Lionel, her dreams would not come to pass, and Leon would never have to face Odin's armies, and she could smile at the side of a man she didn't love, secure in the knowledge she'd saved the one she did.

This was a vision she had the power to change.

"I would hope for more for you," she said softly. "That you find the glory you deserve, with a woman at your side who knows what a treasure you really are."

"As long as I can fight for Camelot, I can live without the rest."

He could, too. He'd had the strength to walk away from everything they shared for the future of the kingdom. The question was, could she?

"You should rest," Leon said when she didn't reply. "Close your eyes. I'll stay as long as necessary."

Necessary for what? For her to sleep peacefully? For her to live happily? But she settled back into the circle of his embrace, pillowing her cheek against his arm again, and stared at the outline of the window on the far side of the room.

"I wish it wasn't this hard."

His breath ruffled her hair the moment before he nuzzled into her neck. "So do I."

"Do you think about turning back the clock? Going back to the way things were before?"

"Occasionally. But then I realize we'd just come to this time again, and I'm not sure I'd wish to relive it all a second time."

Because neither of them would be likely to change the outcome. Without foreknowledge, they'd just act out the same parts, true to what they believed.

"But the future isn't ours, either. Was it worth it?"

"Yes," he answered without pause. "It was all worth it, Morgana. Every moment we had together. All the way to now."

"You mean, all the way to tomorrow," she whispered.

"Why do you say that?"

"You promised to stay. Tonight, I want to pretend I didn't dream about losing you. I want to forget where we are and what we have to do."

"I'm not sure I can." Before the pain from his confession could strike too deep, though, he added, "But you haven't lost me, and I'm not going anywhere tonight. There's nowhere else I'd rather be than right here."

If only he meant that beyond the sanctuary of these four walls. What she wouldn't give for him to fight for her as hard as he fought for Camelot.

But this would have to do. And in the morning, she would go to Uther, kneel before him, and bow to his wishes regarding the marriage ceremony. The alliance with Brennus would stop them from going to war, and if that was what it took to give Leon a rich, long life--even if it was without her in it--then that was what she'd do.

They laid like that until she felt his breathing deepen, his arm settle more heavily against her side as he slipped into sleep. Only then did she cover his hand with hers, absorbing his heat, claiming him one last time.

"I love you," she whispered, safe in her new solitude. He'd carry her confession away in the morning, a secret between her and his slumbering heart. "For always."


	5. Sword

_SWORD  
def: a long blade, edged on one or both sides, with a pointed end and a fixed hilt  
A popular weapon, it allows a variety of blows, from cutting to thrusting, while still allowing its wielder to utilize a shield if need be._

"Morgana!"

The hinges squeaked as the door was thrust open, the only announcement of Gwen's arrival other than her sharp call. Morgana stiffened at the sound of it, fingers tightening around the silk in her hands, while the woman from the market grumbled about inconsiderate servants as she picked up the pins she'd scattered at the surprise.

"What is it?" Morgana asked.

Gwen didn't even curtsey. In fact, she didn't seem to notice the other women at all. Her panicked gaze locked with Morgana's. "You must come."

Her instincts urged her to drop what she was doing and obey Gwen's frantic directive, but the merchant wasn't the only other person in the room. Lionel's aunt lounged on a nearby chaise, sorting through various ribbon lengths to see what would best match Morgana's choice.

For her guests' sake, Morgana attempted a smile that was part reassuring, part condescension. "I'm in the middle of selecting the fabric for my wedding gown, Gwen. Whatever it is can wait."

"No. It can't." She gnawed at the corner of her mouth as her eyes darted around to the others, her internal debate between proper etiquette and whatever had got her so bothered warring across her face. Panic won. "It's Sir Leon. He's challenged the prince."

The others might have questioned which prince Gwen referred to, but Morgana knew there could only be one. She dropped the silk into the basket and half-ran for the open door.

In the hallway, she let Gwen take the lead through the castle and into the courtyard. The knights were already assembled there, a barrage of bodies fitted in mail and capes, blocking their way. Gwen shouldered through the crowd, though more fell away as Morgana followed. They came up short against a solid wall of men, Arthur's broad back the central anchor.

Gwen stepped to the side, giving Morgana freedom to grab Arthur's arm. "What's going on?" Morgana demanded. She had to pull even harder to get Arthur to do more than glance at her over his shoulder. She couldn't see past him, which was probably his intention, but only frustrated her even more. "Damn it, Arthur! I know there was a challenge! Tell me what happened!"

His mouth was drawn into a sharp line, his eyes uncharacteristically furious. His anger wasn't directed at her, though; she'd been the source of enough of his ire over the years to recognize its origins. Without a word, he angled his body away from the line, giving her the room she needed to slip past.

When she did, however, she immediately wished she hadn't.

Leon stood at the center of the makeshift ring, his gauntlet on the stones separating him from a hapless Lionel. His sword was already drawn, leveled at Lionel's heart. One quick thrust, and Lionel would be dead. The prince was one of a handful of Brennus's men who were not suited for duty. He wasn't even armed. The scabbard he usually wore--more ceremonial than functional, Morgana had learned--was nowhere to be seen. He looked, from all appearances, that he'd been interrupted in the middle of a leisurely stroll in the country. Except for the tight alarm pinching his already narrow features.

His dark eyes flickered toward her. "This is not the place for a lady," Lionel said.

"Nor is it the place for a common brawl," she retorted. Arthur yielded to her push when she squeezed past, though once on the interior of their battle lines, she felt small and exposed in comparison to all the burly, armored men surrounding her. She lifted her chin and marched right between them to best ignore her nerves. "Is this really how you conduct yourself, Prince Lionel? Should I expect the same displays once we're wed?"

The corner of his mouth tightened in his disgust. "Do I appear to be the instigator here, my lady?" He gestured toward Leon, who had not moved a muscle since Morgana had come through, not even to look down at her now that she stood within inches of his blade. "The knights of Camelot are renowned through the five kingdoms, but if this is the best they have to show for it, perhaps that reputation has been purchased rather than earned."

If these were the sort of accusations he'd made before she'd arrived, it was no wonder Arthur was so angry. Her own fury was rising at alarming levels. "Those are dangerous accusations," she said. "I sincerely hope you have cause for such words."

"Ask your knight," he spat.

What she wanted to do was drag Leon out of there, though the challenge had already been made and without good reason for her actions, she'd just succeed in sullying his honor. Slowly, she pivoted on her heel, keeping her bearing as regal as possible, until she came face to face with Leon. Though she silently willed him to look down at her so she could better understand what was going on, his gaze remained locked over her head.

"Sir Leon." Her voice rang loud and clear, as impartial as she could make it, though she trembled like a reed inside. "What reason do you have to challenge Prince Lionel? He's a guest in Camelot. He's worthy of every courtesy we have to offer."

Leon's nostrils flared once before he spoke. "My apologies, my lady, but you're mistaken. He is _not_. Just as he isn't worthy of your hand."

Low murmurs rippled amongst the men on both sides. Her heart thudded painfully against her breastbone, choking the breath from her throat, making her skin flame hot. Leon hadn't even gone this far when they'd been alone. Something awful must have pushed him to this point.

"Why is that?" The calm in her voice surprised her.

"He spoke ill of you, my lady. They were not the words of an intended, to say the least."

"I'm certain this must be a simple misunderstanding."

"It's not, Morgana."

Confirmation from Arthur was the last thing she expected, and her composure faltered as he stepped forward. "What do you mean?"

"I mean..." He tilted his head down, affording them more privacy. "Leon's right. There were witnesses."

They might have had their squabbles over the years, but she knew in her heart that Arthur would always protect her best interests, or what he perceived as her best interests anyway. "Were you there?"

Grimly, he nodded.

"And what was said?"

"It was nothing," Lionel interrupted behind them.

"You called Lady Morgana a spoiled child who needed to learn her place," Leon ground out. "You did so in front of your men. In front of knights. And when I gave you the opportunity to withdraw your words, you joked that perhaps a public flogging would teach her proper humility in your presence. I hardly call that nothing."

Neither did Morgana, or any of the rest of Camelot's knights, if their fierce glares were a good measure. Part of it was certainly true. She _had_ behaved like a spoiled child when first ordered to marry Lionel. But her behavior had been exemplary since the night she'd dreamt of Leon's death. Nothing had been worth jeopardizing Leon's future.

Lionel had gone too far, though. Complaining about her attitude in private chambers was tolerable. Humiliating her in public, in front of men sworn to protect her, was not.

"If my company isn't acceptable, perhaps we need to revisit our agreement," she said, her tone arch. "I am sure King Uther would love to hear--"

"Morgana." Though Arthur touched her shoulder, the forced evenness of his voice was enough to draw her back to him. "A challenge has been issued."

She knew that, but... "It hasn't been accepted." She ignored the temptation to kick the gauntlet out of the way in case Lionel suffered from a last minute attack of courage.

"There's still a matter of honor at stake. For both of them."

"I'm more than happy to allow our fathers to settle this between them," Lionel said. "It's better for both kingdoms if we concede to their wishes."

Whipping around to face him, Morgana sneered, "And will it be better when you're a puppet king, incapable of standing up for what he knows is right and honorable?"

"Enough!" Arthur's grip tightened to pull her back. "Prince Lionel, a challenge stands before you. Do you accept or not?"

Any fool could see he didn't want to. He wasn't a warrior. He was, however, royalty, and honor, especially when besmirched by a woman, demanded satisfaction.

"Not here," he said when he'd picked up the gauntlet. "I won't fight in the streets like commoners."

Arthur ignored the slur with a brisk nod. "On the field, then. In two hours time."

Morgana quivered in indignation as the knights dispersed. Lionel was the first to retreat. Leon was the last.

When she tried to follow after him, Arthur held her back. "Don't. He doesn't need the distraction."

"No," she agreed. "You're right."

_I need him._

* * *

Strapping on his armor was the most right thing Leon had done in days, though it was a little odd that Arthur had sent Merlin to help. The boy wasn't as nimble as Leon was, and it seemed to take twice as long as normal to get everything in place. But when Merlin stood back and gave him a solid look over, the nod of approval warmed Leon through. He understood then what the point had been. A show of solidarity between knights. The silent vow that he stood behind Leon, regardless of how tense the situation had been in the courtyard.

"Is there anything else you need?" Merlin asked.

The tent flap parted behind him, but the quick slash of sunlight was blocked by Morgana's ducked entry. "I'll see to it, Merlin," she said, but her eyes were on Leon, barely cognizant of Merlin's smug smile and swift exit past her.

His throat was dry. He'd kill for a drink of water. What came out was, "I'm fine. But thank you."

She hadn't changed her gown, and her hair was still slightly disheveled from her earlier flight when she'd stepped into the challenge. The fine strands were sharp reminders of each session when they'd squared off, when it was her sword he stared down the length of rather than that of a pompous prig of a prince.

"Why did you do it?" Genuine confusion darkened her eyes, the tiny line between her brows there for him to smooth out if only he was near enough. "You had to know that challenging him like that would endanger the wedding."

"I did," he conceded.

"Yet, you did it anyway."

"I had to."

"You could have let it go. It's not as if there wasn't a grain of truth in what he had to say."

The same rage that had flared inside him when he'd overheard Lionel's insults surged back at Morgana's calm claim. "What he said was wrong."

"I behaved abominably when he arrived."

"For good reason. Uther didn't even ask you what you wanted."

Her frown deepened. "Neither did you. In fact, you said the marriage was for the better."

An acknowledgement that still rankled. He turned away, ostensibly to check the sharpness of his sword but unwilling to betray the true depths of what he was feeling. "I was wrong, too."

He barely felt the blade's edge as he ran his thumb up and down its length. Every sense craned to know what she was doing, how she might possibly be reacting. She didn't make a sound, not a breath, not a whisper. So many seconds lapsed, he wondered if he'd completely lost the plot and she'd slipped out without his awareness.

"You couldn't be." Her voice was softer than it had been, but closer, stippling his skin in goosebumps. "Otherwise, I wouldn't have had those dreams."

He hated her terrors, but in this particular case, he was grateful for them as well. If he hadn't gone to her that night, he might never have decided for certain how badly he needed her in his life. She so rarely allowed herself to be vulnerable in front of him, in front of anyone, and when he'd held her in his arms, when she'd asked him about turning back the clock...he'd known. In his marrow.

"They were just dreams, Morgana. They only hold the power you grant them."

"No." Her arms slipped around his waist, her cheek resting against his back. He wished his mail wasn't in the way of feeling her. He'd missed the texture of her skin along his, dreamt about her hair tumbling down to whip across both of them when she rode him from atop. "There's something I've never told you about my dreams, Leon. Something I've always been afraid to confess."

Though he couldn't see her, he smiled anyway. "I can't imagine you afraid of much of anything."

"I am of this." Her deep breath rubbed her breasts in delicious paths. "I was never sure how you'd react."

The hesitation in her voice bothered him. "You have nothing to fear from me. Ever. I thought you knew that."

"I know that now. Which is why..." She took a deep breath. "My dreams. They're not normal dreams. I...see the future in them."

The last few words were barely loud enough to reach his ears, but the weight of them crashed into him with the force of a hundred men. Such confessions were deadly. Nobody in their right minds would ever make them within the realm and certainly not within Uther's reach. But the fact that she hadn't been able to look him in the eye to utter them proved her sincerity. Morgana found hard truths easiest to share when she wasn't under scrutiny. Teasing, blatant lies, manipulations...those were easy to wear the face of. Honesty was a much harder mask to don.

Though he wanted to convince her into believing it was all a misunderstanding on her part, he couldn't. That would deny both her intelligence and the veracity of her emotions. "Why tell me now?" A safer question to pose. "You've had these dreams for years."

But the explanation became clearer even before she began to speak. All he had to do was relive the night in her bed.

"The only reason I agreed to the union was because it seemed like the only way to keep the dream from coming true. I've made a lot of mistakes when it comes to you, to us, but I won't be the reason you die. I'd never forgive myself if that happened."

"I'm not going to die out there," he tried to assure. "Lionel barely knows which end of the sword to swing."

"It's not here I worried about." Haltingly, she described the scene that had brought out the blood-curdling screams he'd responded to. "And then you came to me," she finished, "and all I wanted was to run away and forget any of it ever happened. I just wanted to be with you, the way I've always wanted to be with you."

Gently prying her wrists apart, he held her still as he twisted in her arms, unwilling to have her run when the air was finally almost clear between them. "You think I don't want the same thing?"

Her lashes remained downcast a moment before she dared to meet his eyes with a stubborn tilt to her chin. "You were more interested in fighting for Camelot than for me."

"You're not the only one who was afraid. I thought I was doing what was best."

"What was easiest, you mean."

He nodded. "It shames me to admit it, but yes, you're right. But I've had to fight for my place amongst the knights for years. I've had to prove myself time and time again that I was worthy of bearing the Pendragon crest. Uther's already made his feelings clear about us, and that was when he thought we were just friends. I didn't know how he'd react if he knew I loved you. I didn't feel like I had any rights to demand for more than the gifts I'd already been given."

His explanation was meant to placate her, to show they both had made incorrect assumptions and choices. The softening of her luscious mouth, the shock in her widened gaze, had nothing to do with being pacified, he suspected, a realization that became certainty as a slow smile lit her up.

"You love me?"

Out of everything he'd said, that was what she'd heard? "Of course, I do. You know that."

"No, you've never told me."

Perhaps not in so many words, but he thought his actions over the years would have convinced her of it without having the actual declaration. "How could I not? You're strong, you're passionate. I'm a better man for having had the privilege of spending time with you."

She cocked a brow. "You didn't say beautiful. Or charming. Or--"

"Because those go without saying," he laughed. Sliding his hands up her arms, he cupped her face, threading his fingers into the thick fall of her hair. "There is no other like you, Morgana. Not now, not ever. You could be the most magnificent queen the five kingdoms has ever known."

"I don't want to be queen. I want to be yours."

He kissed her then because he couldn't not do it. It had been too long, and though the caress wasn't deep, Morgana moaned and opened for more, unafraid as always to show what Leon did to her. How could he have ever imagined letting her go? She offered everything she was, every time they were together, filling corners of his heart nobody else knew, nobody else cared about. Even now, with the wounds of the past few weeks still healing between them, she'd laid herself bare, and the knowledge she was ready to face Uther's wrath if Leon decided to uphold the code and expose her sorcery sealed his decision to stand up for her even more firmly.

"Sir Leon? It's time."

At Merlin's call, Leon abandoned her mouth to rain a waterfall of kisses along her cheek, ending at her brow. "I have to go," he murmured.

She clutched at his wrists, her fingers a death grip refusing him the space to release her. "I know."

"Will you watch for me?"

"I will hail you for all to hear. Lionel, Uther, everyone."

He tasted her smile as he kissed her again, lingering a second longer when she bit at his lower lip. Letting go would have been impossible, but he had a task to do, a right to assert.

Picking up his sword, he crossed the tent, then paused at the entrance. "So you know, I'd planned on challenging Lionel before he ever said anything against you."

Morgana beamed. These were words he didn't have to clarify for her to understand. "Go show them what I've always known. That you are the finest knight Camelot has to offer."

* * *

The challenge lasted less than a minute. As Lionel lay on the cold ground, his breath harsh puffs in front of his face, Leon held the tip of his sword to the man's throat. The gathered crowd fell silent. Everyone waited, including Morgana and Uther in their thrones.

Slowly, Leon lowered his blade and stepped back.

Morgana was the first to leap to her feet and applaud.


	6. Hand-to-Hand

_Hand-to-Hand  
def: physical engagement of two or more persons without the inclusion of weaponry other than the human body  
The most basic of formats, hand-to-hand combat allows a wide variety of attacks and defenses, limited only by imagination and determination._

The wicks had burned nearly three inches when she finally heard the latch turn on the door. Morgana flew across the room to yank it open and nearly stumbled into Leon when he was faster than she.

"Falling at my feet already?" he teased. His hands slipped beneath her arms to help her straighten, caressing the outer swell of her breasts through her diaphanous gown once she was steady again. "Remind me to marry you more often."

"Where have you been?" Her nipples ached for more than his light touches, and she arched toward him, hoping he'd take the hint. "You said you'd be up right after me."

"That was before Uther cornered me on the stairs." 

Ducking his head, he caught the peaked tip with his teeth, sucking hard at her breast through her nightgown. Morgana gasped, her hand shooting to the back of his neck to hold on as her thighs turned to jelly. Though her nails clawed into his nape, he didn't let go. If anything, the suction increased, the fabric scraping over her sensitized skin even more.

"And it took an hour?" she managed to get out. Squeezing her eyes shut helped to keep control, as well as swallowing hard against the tightness in her throat. "Though that would explain why you're acting like you've never touched me before."

Leon lifted his head, leaving her nipple wet and cold with the abandonment. "I haven't as your husband," he corrected. "And any minute I had to wait was a minute too long."

"What did he want?"

"To remind me of the sacrifice he made for Camelot by allowing our union." He grimaced. "Apparently, I wasn't very convincing when I told him, multiple times, I already knew that."

Sliding her free hand down his shirtfront, Morgana slipped her fingers inside his waistband and began backing up toward the bed. "So how did you end up getting away?"

"Arthur saved me. He pretended someone needed Uther back at the feast, then gave me his own warning about not failing you."

She laughed. "Did you tell him that would only happen if you didn't make it to my bed tonight?"

"I thought it best not to push my luck."

The edge of the mattress nudged against her legs, forcing her to a halt. "Smart man."

Hunger replaced the humor in his eyes. Though she was the one with the hold on him, her limbs denied her commands, locking in place as he brushed his palm over the wet patch on her nightgown. The fabric caught on the tip, it too refusing to move, creating a raw burn over her skin when he plucked it away with a single finger.

"It's taken us a lifetime to get here," he said. "And now I wish I could prolong this moment so that we never lose this."

"We won't." A more fervent promise, she couldn't make. "We've gone through too much to ever take it for granted."

His gaze caressed the exposed length of her neck, his lips parting the second before he bowed his head to lick along the throbbing hollow at its base. Morgana tilted her chin back, shivering as she fought to catch her breath. Where his tongue first soothed, his beard chafed after, never allowing her the peace to relax against him, keeping her poised on the precipice of what he'd do next.

Inch by inch, he pulled her gown up, gathering it in his hands as he worshiped her throat. When he reached her waist, she relinquished her hold on his trousers, freeing one arm to slide out of its sleeve. The cooler air wrapped around her bared body, and she shivered as if she were a virgin unaccustomed to a grown man's touch.

Leon smiled against her skin. "If my lady is cold, I can always put this back on."

"Don't you dare."

His cheek grazed along hers as he nuzzled a path to her ear. "Then you _will_ have to let me go at some point so I may finish."

He was right. The fabric bunched along her shoulder, but the only way to get it the rest of the way off was for her to untangle her fingers from Leon's hair. It meant concentrating and relaxing and willing her muscles to do the opposite of what they were naturally inclined toward, but her hand fell away, dropping to his shoulder so he could tug the nightgown over her head and off the rest of the way.

As many times as she had stood naked in front of him, this felt different, more exposed, fresh as a new moon rising over the trees. His face was already flushed, but as he drank her in, he smiled and let out a hard, quick breath.

"Part of me keeps expecting to wake up," he said. "Did I really challenge a prince for you?"

"You did more than that." She wouldn't be the only one to stand here without a stitch on. Without waiting for his approval--he was hers now to have, to take, to do with as she pleased--she worked at his clothing, pulling inelegantly at ties and fastenings in her haste. "You challenged Uther."

Laughing, he helped by shrugging out of his shirt. "Clearly, you've been a horrible influence on me."

She joined in his laughter with hapless abandon. "Clearly."

The sight of his battle-hewn body still thrilled her. More scars riddled his chest and arms than the callow knight she'd first met had sported, but she treasured every one. They were his trophies, the testament to his unshakeable dedication. Most importantly, they were proof he had survived to return to her. She would tolerate the bruises, the blood, because at the end of the day, she would now be the one to lay claim to them first. He would not be her knight without them.

He was already hard, the wet tip peeking through the foreskin to tease and torment her. Fisting his length, she stroked down to better expose the glistening head, then ran her tongue along the edge of her teeth. His groan went straight to her pussy.

"Considering how badly I want this, this might have to wait until after we've taken the edge off," she said.

"Ah, but I happen to love your edge." His knee pressed between her thighs, his eyes locked on hers as she widened her legs to accommodate him. Reaching around, he cupped her ass and dragged her the rest of the way forward, until she had no choice but to straddle him. "Being married will never change that."

The coarse hairs along his thigh rubbed against her swollen lips, though grinding against it smeared her arousal along the hard muscle and eased the first sting. She pulled at his cock, testing how far she could take him before his need won, but each stroke was countered with a subtle manipulation of his fingers--a pinch along the lower swell of her buttock, a graze at the outer edge of her opening. It became a battle to see who would break first, who would beg for mercy. 

Morgana lost. She tried to hold out, but his patience had grown throughout the years. He rocked her body to his, over and over and over, until she could barely breathe from the heights he took her to.

"More," was all she said, was all she could say. 

Keeping her tight against him, Leon twisted to the side to fall back onto the bed, her weight pinning him amongst the blankets. Her knees scrambled for purchase, and together they were able to stretch out more comfortably, her on top, his hands now roaming up and down her back.

She smiled. "It looks like I won after all."

He cocked a brow. "Who says this isn't my preferred way to have you?" A slight adjustment of his position nudged the long length of his cock along her slit. "It feels like we both win."

Not until he was inside her. For now, the slight pressure against her clit tormented her more than anything else.

She peeled away from his chest until her hair tumbled over her shoulders, shrouding them away from the rest of the room. Though it blocked out most of the flickering candlelight, enough illumination slivered through to make Leon's eyes gleam.

"Ride me, my lady," he murmured.

His command was her desire. When her hips rose, tilted, caught the tip of his cock, his breath puffed hot across her cheeks, somehow quicker than hers when it should've been the other way around. Another thing she loved about him. He seemed so calm, so assured, while she felt like she was going to fly apart, but the reality was they were more alike than appearances could ever reveal. Sinking down his length, that fullness that came with being stretched, filled, had her breath matching his, all the way to that moment when her clit ground against the short hairs circling the root of his shaft.

His grip fluttered along her sides, unsure where to settle, touching everywhere and anywhere to the point of madness. She stole a quick kiss, then a second, using the reprieve to gather her strength to do as they both wanted. The light grew brighter at the corner of her eyes, and she realized a moment too late that he'd wound his fingers through her hair, parting the strands to hold it like reins.

"If you insist on taking so long, you'll force me to ride you instead," he taunted.

"You were the one who wanted to prolong the moment."

"That moment. Not this one. This one, I have no problem letting go to see the next."

"See?" She squeezed around his cock, smiling at his unbidden moan. "I think you have your senses turned around, my lord."

She gasped at the fresh sting in her scalp when he tightened his grasp. "Say it again."

His meaning was easy.

Skimming her lips over his, Morgana clenched down around him again. "My lord."

With a groan, Leon yanked her down, slamming their mouths together as his body jerked upwards. He drove deeper inside her, if that was at all possible, and the pleasure/pain spiking through her flesh finally compelled her to move, rising off his cock several inches before sinking back down. Long strokes were impossible for now. Her skin stippled in hot and cold as he took more kisses and rocked with each one of her shallow slides.

They maintained their short, hard rhythm for several minutes, as long as it took before her lungs began to fight against her. Her hips stung from the way they slapped together, and her scalp hurt from how hard Leon held onto her, but Morgana wouldn't have had it any other way, not this first time. This was perfect, the union of his flesh with hers a duel just as everything else in their relationship had always been. They both needed to prove their worth, to show their value. Marriage wouldn't change that. Better yet, each recognized that part of the other and embraced it. Like it had been with that very first meeting in the armory. Like it would always be until death finally separated them.

She still feared her nightmares. When she'd confessed that not all of her dreams were necessarily prophetic, Leon had decided the one that had terrified her fell into that group. "You were upset about what had come between us," he'd said. "And Uther wasn't happy with your stubbornness. It was probably just your guilt finding a way to push you into making a decision that would ease your mind."

His hypothesis was possible, but Morgana didn't ascribe to it completely. Odds were, he would still die on a battlefield, whether it was fighting Odin or another enemy. As the wife of a knight, she needed to accept that. Trying to change the course of this prophecy, if indeed that was what it turned out to be, could only really happen if he stepped down from his duty. And that was something she would never, ever ask of him.

Gradually, their kisses slowed, while their thrusts lengthened. Leon gave her room to draw back, but the distance added friction against her nipples, force against her clit, sharpening everything inside and out to white-hot points. Camelot disappeared. They were all that mattered. He was all she saw.

She came with a scream, wrenching away from his hold to arch back, her shudders ratcheting out of control beneath her skin. Leon loosed her hair to grab onto her hips, ploughing upward until his shouts joined hers, his tremors an echo of her own. When they came back together in a collapse of limbs, their breath rushed out of them, mingling and rising in their shared laughter. 

"Looks like I was right," he said, smoothing his hand down her damp back.

"About what?"

"We both won."

With a playful slap at his shoulder, Morgana closed her eyes. Her cheek fit perfectly against his collarbone, like everything else about him fit against her. "We'll have a rematch. Just as soon as I can feel my legs again."

His low chuckled vibrated through both of them. "Whatever you wish, my lady."

This would be the night for them, this back and forth with words, with wars. He would concede when she won, just as she would yield when he did. This was the start of the future she'd always wanted, the endless challenge from the man she adored.

This would be their life. The one where each made the other better, stronger. The one they had together.


End file.
